No One Like You
by Lythnia
Summary: Set at the end of 5x14 "My Bloody Valentine". Dean finally turns to Heaven for help, but finds that comfort and help are closer than he thought; he just needs to figure out how he feels about it. Dean/Castiel, not too lemony. R R please!
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So this is my first attempt at a fanfic...ever. Reviews would be appreciated and are better than Castiel's soulful stares. All rights to Supernatural and the boys belong to Kripke & Co. (although personally I think I'd have much more fun with them :p) Now, on to the fic:**

"Listen Cas, I just – I just need to get some air"

Dean turned away from the angel and made his way outside. It was a beautiful night, clear and cool, and the moon and starlight cast a pale glow on the lot of cars in various states of disrepair. All this went unnoticed by Dean, who was entirely wrapped in his thoughts. He could still hear Sam's cries as he pleaded, begged for help, for freedom, for – for demon blood. Oh, Famine. He hated that damn horseman for pushing Sam back towards that particular road, and for other things as well. During the confrontation earlier that night, when he had said those things, Dean had felt naked, stripped, unable to hide behind the mask of sarcasm and disinterest that had nearly everyone fooled. _Not Sammy, though – or Cas,_ he thought to himself. The brothers had been through enough together that it was near impossible to keep anything hidden anymore, but Cas seemed to have Dean figured out even better, if that was possible. And it wasn't just some angelic trick, either, because the rest of the heavenly choir of dicks always seemed to misjudge how he would react in a situation. No, it was something about Castiel himself, and the way that he always understood and looked out for him. Normally Dean would find that kind of thing patronizing, but in this case it seemed right. Right, and comforting in a way, and safe. Sure, his father has kept his sons safe, but he had taught them how to protect themselves, too, and didn't go out of his way to keep them out of danger. Cas was that protection, that safety net that Dean had never had. He'd convinced himself he didn't need it, that he never needed help, but after today, he didn't feel so strong and untouchable.

Famine's voice echoed in his head: _I can see inside you, Dean. You're not hungry, because inside, you're already dead. Dead. _He had kept up a strong front back there, because he was damned if he'd let that old bastard see how much those words had gotten to him. But here, alone with his thoughts, with the weight of the world literally resting on his shoulders, he couldn't keep it up any longer. What did they expect of him? Zachariah and his angels, Michael, God, and even Sam and Cas, everyone wanted something from him, wanted him to singlehandedly save the world. How was he supposed to save the world when he couldn't even keep his own brother safe anymore? All of it, it was too much. He put the bottle of whiskey to his lips – and stopped. He let his hand fall to his side as he looked up, heavenward. Maybe Cas was right; maybe God was somewhere, and he was listening. Dean couldn't remember the last time he had prayed, and he wasn't even sure he knew how to anymore, but it was the only thing he could think to do.

"Please….I can't-" Dean's voice broke on the words as he tried his best to fight back tears. "I need some help."

"He was wrong, you know."

Even after all this time, Dean was still surprised every time Castiel popped out of nowhere. Right now though, the angel's gravelly tones gave Dean a sense of relief, and not just because he knew the voice belonged to a friend. It just seemed to be the very sound he needed to hear.

"Was he, Cas? Was he really? Cause I can't take this anymore, dammit. I can't. Sam, Lucifer, Michael, the freakin' Apocalypse, all of it. I wish I wasn't in the middle of it anymore. I wish I could just be _normal_." He felt a hand on his shoulder, and leaned into it, accepting the support. Normally he would hate to show this kind of weakness; he couldn't be this open even with Sammy, because he was the big brother, the strong one. But with Cas, it was different. All the angel had to do was give him one of those searching looks – the ones that he felt could see right through to his damaged, broken soul – and he found himself opening up in a way that he normally couldn't. Dean couldn't put his finger on why, but there it was.

"Dean, you do have help, whether you realize it or not. Your brother may be experiencing a period of weakness at the moment, but he is always has your best interests at heart. I believe his instinct to protect you is almost as strong as yours is to protect him – you know this. You are indeed blessed to have each other. You have Bobby, as well. True, he is – not entirely able to assist you in many ways, but his knowledge and experience has proved invaluable, and I believe it will continue to be so." He paused, hesitated, before continuing. "And, for what it's worth, you have me. You do know that I want nothing more than to help you in any way I can, Dean. Truly."

Something in the angel's tone as he spoke those final words made Dean turn back and look – straight into those eyes. Their gazes remained locked as Castiel continued. "Dean, I turned against Heaven. I disobeyed, was cut off. I've killed my own brothers, I've done so many things I once found unthinkable – and I did them all for you, to save you, to help you. And it has been worth it, every second, because you are still here. You may not think you deserve salvation, but I do."

Dean couldn't imagine why, but he felt a little breathless as he tried to come up with something to say.

"Why?"

"Because you are a good person. Because you care more about saving others than yourself. Because you're mindless of the cost to yourself, as long as you're doing the right thing. But I have a more selfish reason as well." Here the angel's eyes broke away and he looked downward, as he always did when he was unsure how to continue. "Dean, when I was…imprisoned in Heaven, it was not only because of my disobedience. It was because of my reasons for that disobedience. Because of my- my feelings. For you. Because I cared about you more than Heaven. Because I would do anything for you. Because I-"

The sentence remained unfinished as Dean leaned forward and cut him off with a kiss. It wasn't long, just a gentle caress of lips before he pulled away again - and then he realized what he'd just done.

"Listen Cas, thanks. I- I'd better go in and check on Sammy."

He walked past the angel and towards the house without meeting his eyes again. He tried to tell himself it was out of awkwardness or embarrassment, but a small part of him knew that it was fear; fear that he'd see denial there, and rejection, from the only person that made him feel safe. And though Dean Winchester was strong enough to fight ghosts, vampires and demons, he didn't know if he'd be able to handle that.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know it's taken me an obscenely long time to update this, but I do intend to update it more regularly and actually finish it. The last few months have been crazy, partially because I moved halfway across across the country and because writer's block has been a bitch, but here's chapter 2. Chapter 3 will probably take place towards the end of "Dark Side of the Moon". I'm not entirely sure where I want this to go, so if you want to feed my muse, that would be the most wonderful thing ever. As always, Supernatural and the boys belong to the CW and Kripke & Co. Reviews are better than Castiel's half-smiles. Now, onward!**

Castiel stood in the lot, listening to Dean's rapidly footsteps crunch on the gravel and dirt. He turned to watch the hunter's retreating form, almost in spite of himself, and tried to take stock of these…emotions that were filling his mind. Emotion was something that sprang from free thought, and attachment, and passion; all these things were foreign to the angel. Angels were meant to obey without question, not think for themselves; they were meant to respect God's creation, but not to value it above God, or become attached to it – especially not on the level that Castiel was to his human companions. To Dean. _It always comes back to Dean Winchester_, he thought to himself, with a bittersweet half-smile, before becoming serious again.

He remembered the day Zachariah had charged him with the task of raising Dean's soul from Hell:

"Dean Winchester has broken the first seal; now he is the only one who stop the Apocalypse. Castiel, I want you to go down into the pit and get his soul out of there and back on Earth where we can begin to…guide him to the path that he is destined for."

Even though he knew where in Hell Dean was, Castiel was uncertain that he would be easily be able to locate him. Of course, as soon as he arrived, all traces of doubt were erased. Even after years of Alastair's unspeakable torture had forced Dean into the role of torturer himself, his soul still shone like a beacon in that dark realm of pain and suffering. In that moment, Castiel knew that this man was something special, something precious; he felt this soul's agony, and wanted nothing more than to soothe it, and heal it, and keep it safe from any further harm. When he first introduced himself to Dean after his resurrection, he was struck by how truly undeserving of salvation the man felt, how scarred Hell had left him, and his first reaction was, again, to want to help Dean to see what a good soul he truly had, and how beautiful it was. How beautiful he was.

The more he got to know him, the stronger this instinct grew, day by day, until one day it had grown into something else entirely. Cas didn't know exactly how or when he had come to love Dean Winchester – he only knew that he did. He also knew that this feeling, no matter how right it seemed, still went against everything he had ever been taught and everything he knew. True, angels were neither man nor woman, but Castiel's chosen vessels had always been male, and he had always been what Dean would call "old school" when it came to matters of intimacy, when they crossed his mind at all. At some point in their centuries together, Castiel had harbored what he had thought were feelings for Anna. Now he knew what a pale shadow of a copy they had been when compared to those his heart held for Dean. When he finally acknowledged their existence, he also convinced himself that he could never let Dean know where he truly stood, because there was not even a slight chance of receiving a positive response. Tonight had proven him more wrong than he had ever been in his existence – and for Castiel, that was truly saying something.

_And that is how I've managed to find myself here: fighting demons, horsemen and my own brothers and sisters, trying to find a Father who doesn't want to be found, and falling from grace, for a human._ _No, not just any human, but still. A man. A mortal. He kissed me._ With that last thought, Cas felt another smile coaxing its way into his usually-stern features. _He _kissed_ me. Why? Was he merely seeking comfort in the moment? Does it hold any meaning for him? What do I think? What am I to do? _For what seemed to be the millionth time since he had gotten involved with the Winchesters, he found himself with a head full of questions and no way to find answers. That was why he wanted to go into that house after Dean and stop him, ask him for an explanation. _Yes, that is the reason you wish to follow him. Not because you want to be in his arms again, or-_ He stopped that line of thinking before it went too far; pointless theorizing would get him nowhere, and he knew that Dean would have no answers for him yet, either. He would need his space to try and sort out his thoughts, and the least Castiel could do was give him that. Arming himself with patience, he closed his eyes and prepared to fly to Jerusalem. He would find more oil - perhaps they would have need of more Holy Fire later on. Anything to distract himself from Dean Winchester.

* * *

Meanwhile, the man of the minute (or of the millennium, if he was gonna believe Zachariah, Michael and the rest of that choir of ass-backwards angels) was back in Bobby's. The run-down little house was pretty much the world's most cluttered and unorthodox library on anything spiritual or supernatural, and with its weeks' worth of dishes and laundry and its faint smell of sweat and whisky and flannel and gasoline, it always felt like home. He pushed aside a stack of some dusty old volumes on the horsemen, Lucifer, and two or three different cultures' lore on the apocalypse and took a seat at the kitchen table. He knocked back half of what was left in the bottle before scrubbing his hands through his hair in frustration and letting his head fall into his hands.

Between cheap whiskey, worrying about Sammy and being pretty much mindfucked by what had just happened with Cas, Dean's thoughts weren't all that coherent at the moment. _What the Hell were you thinking, man, kissing an angel? You know better than that. And since when are you into dudes? Great, now you're talking to yourself,_ he thought, snorting derisively. _That's sanity right there, chief._ The solution to this problem was, of course, simple: there was no problem. Tonight never happened, If he didn't bring it up, then Cas would probably avoid the subject out of sheer ignorance re: handling the subject matter, and what people don't know never hurt them. Actually no, for someone like Dean what you don't know could get you killed. Scratch that point. _Damn sayings, never apply to hunters. That's gotta count as some sorta racism._ Still, ignoring the problem seemed to be the only solution that made sense to him, and he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna stick to it. There were more important things to do, like stop the apocalypse, or gank the other two horsemen. _But he kissed you back._ And to that thought, Dean had no response. In that brief moment, he knew Cas really had. Tired of thinking, he finished off the bottled and fell into a restless sleep on the table. He wouldn't remember it in the morning, but he dreamt of an angel.


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: So I swear I wanted to get the story further along than this, but basically ended up writing an expanded version of moments in "Dark Side of the Moon". My muse was being a bitch and wouldn't let me skip ahead, but I had fun doing this. More plot progression soon, I swear! In the meantime, enjoy.

* * *

**

The next few weeks were a blur for Dean. Between trying to track down the horsemen and looking for ways to stop the apocalypse, keeping his mind off Cas should've been easy. Instead, he spent most of his days half-expecting the angel to appear just behind his shoulder, or around the corner. Every time he heard his phone ring, he wanted to flip it open and hear Castiel on the other end of the line. And when they were fighting those damn zombies up by Bobby's…seeing the way Bobby and the other townspeople were willing to do anything just for a chance at being with the people they loved again reminded him of what he would do – had done, in fact – for Sammy. _Of what I'd do for Cas, too, if he needed it_. He pushed the thought away almost angrily. Anger. He wasn't mad at the angel, not really; he was mad at himself, for starting this mess. For letting things go too far, and for possibly ruining what friendship they had. Was it really worth jeopardizing that for something that, honestly, was never gonna happen? _See, Deano?_, he told himself. _Shit like this is why you avoid chick-flick moments. They never end well. _But even sarcasm couldn't make this situation feel any better, or make him think about Cas any less.

Which is why, when he found himself held at gunpoint by Roy, holding Dean's own shotgun – _Sonofabitch is ballsy, I'll give him that_ – his first thought was of Castiel. Specifically, of how useful it would be to have someone with some heavenly mojo around right about now. As things were, he figured he'd just try and talk the two angry hunters into at least putting the guns down. "Well, is it just me, or do you two seem a tad upset?"

It was Walt who opened his mouth next, ignoring Dean and talking to Sam instead.

"You think you can flip the switch on the Apocalypse and just walk away, Sam?"

"Who told you that?" Sam's voice was small, as if he was trying to keep the months of guilt from coming through.

"We ain't the only hunters after you." The shotgun pumped, ready to fire. "See you in the next life."

Sam dropped the show now, panicking, "Hear me out. I can explain! Please."

For a moment, Dean was sure it would work. These guys were hunters. They killed things, not people. Of course, as soon as he thought that, he remembered his own words to Sam the year before. _If I didn't know you, I would want to hunt you. You're a monster._ He winced inwardly, remembering those months. But he had Sam back now, and he was damned if he was gonna lose his little brother again to some no-name, backwoods-

_BANG_. Sam was down. He was gone. He was lying there, motionless on the crappy motel bed, blood pouring through the holes Walt had blown in his big flannel shirt. _Always so big. I don't know when he grew_ _up so much, kid's a damn Sasquatch now-_ A million thoughts ran through his head, about Sam, about the last time he'd died, bringing him back, the aftermath, the hellhounds, Alastair, the pain, _the damn Apocalypse_ – he couldn't be gone now. Not when they were this close. And more importantly, Dean couldn't have failed again. Taking care of Sammy was the one thing he always did, the one things he was good at. Dean was numb. He heard Roy telling him to stay, heard Walt saying he had to be killed –

"You want to spend the rest of your life knowing Dean Winchester's on your ass? Cause I don't." _Damn right, you don't, you little prick. _

"Go ahead, Roy. Do it. But I'm gonna warn you – when I come back, I'm gon' be _pissed_." Roy, hesitated, his finger on the trigger. "Come on! Let's get this show on the road."

* * *

Dean was dreaming. He was in the front seat of the Impala, and _Knockin' on Heaven's Door_ was playing through the speakers. He got out of the car and walked off the road – and it was the 4th of July, 1996, and he was dicking around with Sammy, lighting fireworks in an empty field. They were laughing, and they were happy in that moment, just two normal brothers having some fun in the middle of the night.

"Dad would never let us do anything like this. Thanks Dean; this is great." Sam gave him a tight hug before running off to light the fireworks. He saw Sam smiling, running through the sparks and light, happy - then he closed his eyes, and saw a 28 year old Sam, shot and dead and bleeding – and when he opened his eyes again, the field was empty. Dean made his way back to the car. He needed to sit down and figure out what the Hell was going on. Dammit, he needed a drink. He leaned on his Baby and looked out into the night, trying to figure out his next move, when the radio turned on by itself:

"Dean." He started. He almost didn't believe what he was hearing – but of course, Cas _would_ be in his dream. _ Typical of the bastard…he flies off for weeks and then shows up in my fuckin head. I am not gonna let myself miss him. Keep cool._

"Cas?"

"Yeah, it's me."

Dean got in the driver's seat, pulling the door shut behind him. He stared at the radio, not sure what to do. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many words that he'd thought of since he last saw the angel – _Since I last kissed the angel _ – and now, he was just drawing a blank. So Dean Winchester did what he always did, and replaced feelings with sarcasm.

"You gotta stop pokin' around in my dreams, man. I need some me time."

"Listen to me, very closely. This isn't a dream."

"Then what is it?"

"Deep down, you already know." _Cas, why do you gotta be so cryptic all the time?_ But then Dean thought about it, really thought, and he remembered. Roy, Walt, the motel, the guns – _Sammy_. _Wait, they shot – _"I'm dead."

"Condolences." Dean almost wanted to smile at that. _I guess being around a wiseass like me is startin' to rub off on him._

"Where am I?"

"Heaven."

"Heaven?" Dean looked around again. All he saw was darkness, and forest, and an empty back road, but if Castiel said it was Heaven, he'd take his word for it. _It's not like I wanted the virgins, anyway. And harps annoy the crap outta me._ Of course, this raised a more important question. "How did I get to Heaven?"

"Please, listen – this call, this connection, it's difficult to maintain."

Something occurred to Dean, in that moment. "Well, if I'm in Heaven – then where's Sam?"

"Tell me, what do you see?"

"What do you mean, what do I see?"

"Some people see a tunnel, or a river. What do _you_ see?"

"N-nothing. My dash, I'm in my car, I'm on a road."

"Alright, a road. For you, it's a road. Follow it, Dean. You'll find Sam. Follow the road." And then the radio died, Cas was gone, and Dean felt suddenly alone. _Follow the road…what is this, the Wizard of Oz?_ But it's not like he had a better plan, so Dean revved up the Impala and went off to find Sam. And he did – at some family's Thanksgiving dinner, playing footsies with some middle school chick with a bulky knit sweater and braces. And since he was relieved to see his little brother alive and in one piece – _well, technically dead_, he corrected himself – he showed his love in the true Winchester brother fashion: mocking abuse. He walked inside and looked at Sam with his best "God, you are just _such_ a loser" face.

"Wow. Just…wow."

"Dean? What are you doing in my dream?"

After giving Sam the skinny on the whole Heaven deal, they were trying to decide what to do next, when the house started shaking and lights swept the outside of the house, like there was a team of cops searching for runaways or something. _Now that brings back memories_, Dean thought, remembering a time when Henderson and the FBI were the biggest bad guys in his life. _Now, things are getting freaky, even by our standards. Where the hell's Cas?_ Dean looked around the room, trying to figure out a way to get in touch with the angel. _Radio – perfect._ He tried to turn it on, whacking the damn thing, and calling "Cas. Cas? Cas!"

Sam scoffed. "Dean, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?"

"Like you've lost your mind."

Oh, Sammy. The kid always needed everything spelled out for him. "Cas talked to me before using this – this phone-home radio thing, so I – Cas!"

"I can hear you." And with that, the TV turned on, and Dean could make out Castiel's face. As always, Dean felt a sense of relief wash over him, just knowing the angel was somehow there.

"Cas! Hey. So I – so I found Sam, but something just happened. There was this weird…beam of light."

"Don't go into the light."

"OK…thanks, Carol Ann. What is it?"

"Not what – who. It's Zachariah. He's searching for you."

"And if he finds us?" Sam piped in.

"You can't say yes to Michael and Lucifer if you're dead, so Zachariah needs to return you to your bodies."

"Great! Problem solved!"

"No, you don't understand! You could – you're behind the wall. This is a rare opportunity."

"For what?" Dean asked.

"You need to find an angel. His name is Joshua."

That was it. First Cas prances off, then he shows up on Angel radio, and now he's trying to give them orders, and not once has he bothered to ask Dean if he was OK. "Hey man, no offense, but we're kinda ass-full of angels, OK? You find him."

"I can't. I can't return to Heaven."

"So what's so important about Joshua?" Sam asked.

"The rumor is – he talks to God."

"And? So?" Dean failed to see why this was such a big deal. Angel, talks to God. Sounded about right. Dean was surprised to hear frustration and barely veiled angers in Castiel's response:

"You think maybe – just maybe, we should find out what the _hell _God has been saying?" So Cas wasn't Mr. Calm-and-collected after all. Interesting.

"Geez, touchy."

"Please. I just need you to follow the road. It's the called the _Axis Mundi. _It's a path that runs through Heaven. Different people see it as different things. For you, it's two-lane asphalt." _Not surprising, considering we pretty much live on the road_, thought Dean. The road will lead you to the garden. You will find Joshua there – and Joshua can take us to God. Hurry. Please – hurry." And he was gone again.

* * *

"God wants you to remember."

And with a touch of Joshua's fingers to his forehead, Dean felt himself…shifting. He opened his eyes and sat up sharply in bed, gasping for air. _Bed. Room. No more garden. _He was back in the motel room. He heard Sam come to on the other bed, ask Dean if he was alright.

"Define 'alright'." He was back, Sam was back – and he felt like someone had punched a hole in his gut and rubbed in some rock salt for their big finish. Joshua's words were still clear in his head._ God knows what's going on. He knows everything – he just doesn't think it's His problem. He wants you to back off. _God had been their final, last-ditch effort, and He just did not care. _What are we gonna do? _And then he remembered something else._ What am I gonna tell Cas?_ Dean had never really believed in God anyway, so this wasn't a personal letdown for him – it was more of a "Well, I was supposed to save the world but now it's royally boned so I need some help but He didn't come through" type of thing. But for Castiel…this was his Father, and Dean knew exactly how much that had to hurt.

* * *

Castiel paced back and forth on the empty rooftop; he knew Dean would be doing his utmost to find Joshua, and a way to God. A way to his Father. Of the whole heavenly Host, few had ever spoken to God, and only four had ever actually seen Him. Castiel had taken everything he had been taught about his Father on faith, like all his brothers and sisters – but now that he had rebelled and was beginning to question everything, that faith was becoming harder and harder to hold on to. And yet, Dean had managed to remain a constant throughout this tumult, someone he could rely on, and believe in. If anyone could help Castiel find God, it was him.

It was not long before his cellular telephone rang, and Castiel answered it immediately, almost dropping the device in his impatience.

"Dean? Where are you?" The moment he had received the hunter's location, he transported himself directly into their room. He snapped the phone shut and faced the brothers. Up until this moment, he had hoped that the news would be good – that Joshua had given them God's location, or a hint, or a word of encouragement, at the very least. But he knew Dean, and the expression on his face was not a promising one.

"Cas, it's -" he paused, as if searching for the right words, before exhaling deeply. His shoulders slumped, as if that breath had held the last bit of hope he had left. "I'm sorry. We found Joshua, but he said that God- that God knows, He knows everything, but He doesn't think it's his problem. He wants us to back off. "

_No. No, that can't be right. My Father is good, and loving, and caring, and – _"It does not matter, Dean. I still have the amulet, he can still-"

"No, Cas. Joshua covered that one, too. He said, if God doesn't wanna be found, then no way are we gonna find him, amulet or no amulet."

"I do not- I cannot-" Castiel leaned back against the wall, trying to process this, to collect his thoughts. "Maybe- maybe Joshua was lying." It was Sam who responded, since Dean had been concerning himself with the packing, and not meeting Castiel's gaze, or even acknowledging the angel's presence.

"I don't think he was, Cas. I'm sorry."

That was when it hit him. The confusion, the sense of betrayal and abandonment, the sheer anger he felt for this Father, the one who was meant to be all-loving and compassionate. He straightened himself up and turned heavenward, his ice-blue gaze filled with righteous anger, as if daring God to challenge him. _But that would be blasphemy_, said a small voice in the back of his mind, a reflex from millennia of service and obedience. _If this is blasphemy, then let me be damned,_ he thought back. _Then we would at least have some proof that God cares about any of this at all_. "You sonofabitch. I believed in-" He stopped, unable to finish. He had believed, so much, for so long – and it had all been for nothing. He turned and took a step towards Dean, trying to think of what to say. There were countless things he'd been wanting to tell the hunter for weeks, but now was not the time. So Castiel simply pulled the amulet out of his pocket and tossed it carelessly at him, ignoring the worry in the hunter's gaze. _I don't need your pity, Dean._

"I don't need this anymore. It's worthless." Ignoring Sam's call for him to wait, the angel disappeared with a flutter of wings.


End file.
